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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23367157">contracts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cautiouslyoptimistic/pseuds/cautiouslyoptimistic'>cautiouslyoptimistic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:56:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,109</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23367157</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cautiouslyoptimistic/pseuds/cautiouslyoptimistic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>they met, as all normal, sane people did, in the library</p>
<p>or, clarke and lexa get very possessive over a book</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clarke Griffin/Lexa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>237</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>contracts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They met, as all normal, sane people did, in the library. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It started out as a typical enough day. Clarke was engrossed in her work, papers fluttering around her head, stacks of texts forming a veritable wall around her, headphones on blast in order to drown out the humdrum of the first-year students who still loved life. It wasn’t until she paused her music and marked her place in her notes, needing her coffee/make-sure-the-sun-still-was-in-the-sky break (she’d learned the hard way that the librarians did not take well to stragglers who remained past operation hours), that she realized the day wasn’t typical at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One second she was smiling and inhaling the smell of her vanilla-syrup drowned coffee, walking back towards her table, and the next, she was face to face with a young woman with narrowed green eyes, holding one of the texts Clarke was using for her research in her hand, waving it angrily in Clarke’s face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> the one who absconded with the book I need,” the stranger hissed, free hand coming to rest on the table. It was vaguely inappropriate, given the circumstances, but Clarke found herself thinking that the strange woman leaning against the table was, well, hot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(She’d been in the library too long. She’d lost all her senses.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Absconded?” Clarke repeated hazily, wondering if she had one shot too many of espresso, maybe that she’d hit her head harder than she thought when she fell asleep earlier and had woken up when her hand had slipped from her chin and her forehead connected sharply with the wooden table, causing her to hallucinate this whole interaction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been searching for this for </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” the woman continued, seemingly unaware that Clarke had spoken. “But it’s never in its spot and it’s not marked as checked out—do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?” She shook her head in exasperation, choosing that moment to wave the book again, this time under Clarke’s nose. “I’m taking this,” she announced primly, and obviously thinking that was sufficient explanation, turned on her heel and began to walk away, Clarke’s book firmly in hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took Clarke three solid seconds to catch up, set her coffee down, and chase after the stranger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! Hey, you can’t just take it like that, I need that book for my research. Professor Callahan is already telling me I’m behind, I—” But the stranger didn’t allow Clarke the opportunity to finish. She stopped suddenly and turned around, eyes narrowed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Callahan</span>
  </em>
  <span> is your advisor?” she practically sneered. “I have Trunchbull. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Trunchbull</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke’s first reaction was to wince in sympathy, but at the sight of the stranger’s smug look, she shook her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do I even know you’re telling the truth? This is a small school and I’ve never seen you before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously, Clarke?” the stranger demanded, the smugness giving way to frustration. “We were in the same section. You called me Lexie once because you’d just gotten into </span>
  <em>
    <span>Grey’s Anatomy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...do not recall that,” Clarke lied, hoping her face wasn’t as red as it felt. Because she recognized her book thief now—it was Lexa Woods, the incredibly intelligent, incredibly swoonworthy, terribly unwilling to get to know anyone, crush that Clarke had for nearly all of her first year and had unsuccessfully attempted to stamp out for most of this year. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(She wasn’t surprised she didn’t recognize Lexa right away. Though she had embarrassingly memorized the shade of Lexa’s eyes and the angle of her jawline, when Lexa wore her oversized glasses and kept herself huddled up in a sweater at least two sizes too large, it was astonishingly easy to overlook her. Which, Clarke supposed, was what Lexa was going for—she seemed to thrive when she was underestimated, as if it gave her more to prove. In fact, besides that one conversation that one time Clarke was a little bit tipsy at the end of a long week, a conversation which ended with calling Lexa </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lexie</span>
  </em>
  <span> and an explanation about how much she loved </span>
  <em>
    <span>Grey’s Anatomy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Clarke had never even spoken to Lexa before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though now she supposed she understood why her first thought had been that her book thief was attractive, Lexa did seem to always have that effect on her.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry about Callahan,” Lexa said, waving off Clarke’s lie with nothing but a raised eyebrow, “but I need this book, Clarke. I’m pretty sure if I don’t have a draft for Trunchbull by the end of the week, she’s going to skin me alive.” She turned around and was almost to the stairs which would lead down to the main part of the library before Clarke found her voice again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can share,” she offered, hoping Lexa would go for it. The book was part of the permanent collection, meaning neither one of them could check it out, and with the librarians cracking down on scanning (“These books are </span>
  <em>
    <span>fragile</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Miss Griffin, please refrain from going </span>
  <em>
    <span>near</span>
  </em>
  <span> the scanner, if you wouldn’t mind”) they were in dire straits. “Please, Lexa. Let’s just share.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lexa turned back and studied her for a long moment, something about her expression making Clarke wonder if she really was considering the offer or something else entirely. But then, incredibly, miraculously, Lexa gave her a curt nod. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All right. We’ll share. But we need ground rules.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ground rules?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what I said. We need a schedule, food rules, talking rules—actually, I’ll let you know right now, I want to institute a no chatting rule. No talking at all preferably unless it’s to do with the research.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke scowled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a bundle of joy aren’t you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not here to make friends, Clarke,” Lexa said primly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m here to learn. So agree to my terms or I walk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oral contract, is it?” Clarke asked wryly, rolling her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not, the terms will have to be drafted, we’d need signatures, maybe witnesses and a notary to be safe—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“—oh my god, stop. Fine. I agree, as long as you </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lexa grinned victoriously, sticking her free hand out for Clarke to shake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Clarke,” she said, and Clarke suddenly remembered why she’d fought so hard against her stupid crush on Lexa.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was a sneaky gunner. (Sneaky because she was actually highly intelligent and could be charming if she wanted, because she didn’t really care about what anyone thought of her, least of all their professors. And yet, she was a gunner all the same.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And though she took Lexa’s hand and shook it, Clarke couldn’t help but hope that this arrangement wouldn’t last long at all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>x</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Later, Clarke will gleefully tell everyone that it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lexa</span>
  </em>
  <span> who violated the contract first. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Over boredom, of all things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>miserable</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she groaned, ten minutes into their second day of scheduled sharing-of-the-book. Lexa put her head down on the table, still managing to make that look cool and dignified, something Clarke was sure she’d never be able to pull off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought we had rules,” Clarke said, not at all sympathetic. She caved a second later and patted Lexa awkwardly on the back. “No talking during research, no talking about fight club, I dunno.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I regret every single decision that led to me being here, in this chair, working on this stupid paper,” Lexa continued, ignoring Clarke’s comment but leaning into her touch. It was a thrilling action, and Clarke wouldn’t admit it, not even to herself, but her heart did pound in her chest in response to Lexa’s tiny movement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Having an existential crisis in the library is a little cliché, don’t you think?” Clarke soothed, still rubbing Lexa’s back. “And you, the top in the class! What will the gossip mill think?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh sure, you don’t recognize me the other day but now you know my class rank?” Lexa scoffed, not moving her head off the table. “Besides, I think it’s healthy to have an existential crisis every now and then. Keeps you grounded.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke shifted in her chair, facing Lexa completely, tugging on her sleeve until she picked her head off the table. “What you need is a break. Some stress relief.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lexa’s eyes narrowed as she studied Clarke, looking like someone who knew she was being lured into a trap but wasn’t quite sure how yet. “What do you have in mind, Griffin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trust me,” Clarke grinned, “you’re gonna love it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>x</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lexa decidedly did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> love it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>bar</span>
  </em>
  <span>? And not any bar, but the dingiest bar in town?” Lexa demanded as soon as they walked through the entrance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, don’t you want to spend time with your people?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alcoholics?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not a nice thing to call our classmates. You’re just being offensive now,” Clarke snarked, grinning widely when Lexa shot her a glare. She motioned for Lexa to come closer, raising her eyebrows when Lexa honestly seemed to consider against it. “I’m just joking,” Clarke whispered in her ear when she leaned closer, “trust me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At the moment, not really, no,” Lexa informed her, shaking her head to accentuate her point. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Paranoid Peggy, just follow me.” When Lexa seemed to hesitate, Clarke sighed and took her hand, leading her to the back of the bar—pausing only long enough to wave and wink at the bartender—and through a pair of doors that led into the alley. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you wanted to kill me, I think there were easier ways,” Lexa said dryly as Clarke led her further down the alley, her eyes on the grime coating the walls and the trash littering the ground. “It feels unhygenic to even </span>
  <em>
    <span>walk</span>
  </em>
  <span> here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t whine, this’ll be worth it,” Clarke said, realizing as she squeezed Lexa’s hand that neither one had made any attempt to release the other. For whatever reason, the very thought and the feeling of Lexa’s hand in hers made her stomach swoop pleasantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(And if she knew the reason, if she was just playing dumb because she didn’t want to get her hopes up, that was her own business.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clarke, maybe this wasn’t—” Lexa began, cutting herself off as soon as Clarke came to a stop, motioning to the wall in front of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wall itself was nothing special, it was merely the brick and mortar of the bar’s back entrance. What was special was the cans of paint stacked neatly on the ground, paintbrushes and rollers ready for use for anyone who happened to pass by. In fact, Clarke could see additions on the wall from the last time she’d been here—tiny flowers, an intricate-looking pattern, a massive and brightly colored depiction of a sunset. She smiled lightly as she released Lexa’s hand and grabbed the can of white paint. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, what are you doing?” Lexa protested, tugging the white paint out of her hands. “You’re not going to go over it are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I am,” Clarke laughed, tugging the paint back. At Lexa’s incredulous look, Clarke dropped her paintbrush and attempted to explain. “I had a friend in college who wanted to own a bar—this bar. You saw her, the bartender? She needed some money so I invested. I’m a silent partner in her business.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s that got to do with you vandalizing people’s artwork?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is mine. As a part of our deal, I get a wall. Or well, everyone gets a wall. Artists can come here and paint, using the supplies here. The only condition is that it’s not permanent—another artist can come paint over your work at any time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lexa stared at her like she’d never quite seen her before. “So painting is your stress relief?” she asked softly, something about her expression making Clarke’s stomach swoop again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t get mushy on me, Woods. Grab a paintbrush, let’s make something pretty.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Their finished work was a mural of their lives, with books and coffee and libraries and advisors they didn’t like. It was silly and exaggerated, but it made Lexa laugh, which in turn made Clarke laugh. So she didn’t think it was much of a big deal when she snapped a photo of it on her phone when Lexa’s back was turned as they were about to leave. It was a good memory and she wanted a momento—the art couldn’t be permanent, but the photo would be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was how Clarke realized that maybe she’d not been as successful at fighting against her crush on Lexa as she’d thought.) </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>x</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When she missed a week of their book-sharing days in a row, Clarke didn’t think it was a big deal. She realized she was wrong when Lexa left the sanctuary of the library and tracked her outside, glaring at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’ve you been?” Lexa demanded when Clarke gave up on her outlining and looked up. “You’ve got a paper to write.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m behind on my reading and outlining,” Clarke muttered, feeling oddly defensive. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> behind. She’d skipped reading several nights in a row, slightly preoccupied with thoughts of a green-eyed gunner whose laugh she found she quite liked. It was annoying. “Grades are important, Woods, I’d think you of all people would agree.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re avoiding me,” Lexa stated, ignoring Clarke’s dig. “Why are you avoiding me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not avoiding you,” Clarke lied. Because she was. Avoiding Lexa, that is. Not because she felt overwhelmed by the new flurry of feelings now that she knew Lexa better, had heard her groan dramatically about classes, had heard her laugh, had seen her with her hair ruffled and paint on her cheek. No, not because of any of that. She was avoiding Lexa because she was a good student, a responsible student, and she had readings to do and outlines to make, and to be perfectly honest Lexa was driving her to distraction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Though to be fair, Clarke was definitely overwhelmed by the new flurry of feelings too.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We had a contract, Clarke.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well isn’t it better for you if I’m not there? You can get your work done, no one’s absconding with the book. I don’t see why you’re complaining, if anything I thought you’d be relieved.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke knew she’d said the wrong thing as soon as the words came out of her mouth. It was odd, after seeing Lexa open and warm and willing to show parts of her personality, to watch Lexa close off, her expression and stance becoming cold all at once. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(And her eyes—her eyes shuttering, the last traces of familiarity whisked away.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re quite right,” Lexa said, nodding once. “Silly of me.” She didn’t explain what was silly, just turned on her heel and headed back inside and towards the library. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke watched her go, her heart heavy with regret pooling in her chest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>x</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She went to her usual table outside of book-sharing hours (so she was a coward, whatever, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sue </span>
  </em>
  <span>her), Callahan’s threat of not giving her substantive edits if she didn’t finish soon still ringing in her ears, but to her shock the text she needed, the book that was the source of all her annoyance, was gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The book thief had taken her book. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d stolen </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> book, violating the contract a second time in as many weeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lexa was such a sneaky </span>
  <em>
    <span>gunner</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>x</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> the one who absconded with my book,” Clarke said, placing the cup of black coffee on the table and pushing it towards Lexa. Though she didn’t look up from her computer, still typing furiously away, her lips did quirk slightly, and Clarke took it as a win.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trying to bribe me to get it back? It’s not necessary, I just forgot to put it back yesterday, you can have it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The coffee’s not a bribe, it’s an apology,” Clarke said with a sigh, sitting down next to Lexa without bothering to ask if she was welcome. “I shouldn’t have avoided you. And I should’ve talked to you instead of...doing what I did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that, Lexa looked over at her, looking curious but guarded. “So why did you? Avoid me and...do what you did?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Last year...this is embarrassing, but last year sometimes the best part of my day was catching a glimpse of you.” Clarke looked at Lexa as she spoke, surprised to see that a blush was on her cheeks, that her ears were tinted red. And that gave her the one thing she didn’t want: hope. “But I didn’t really know you, so it was harmless. Now with our dumb contract and book arrangement, I dunno. It’s not as harmless.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lexa blinked several times, then comprehension dawned. “Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Clarke was ready to run, ready to drop her head into her arms out of embarrassment, ready to move to another state just to escape Lexa’s gaze, and then:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a confession, Clarke,” Lexa said slowly, taking the book Clarke had so desperately needed out of her bag and pushing it towards her. “After our first day sharing the book I realized it’s useless to me. The topic I’m writing on? Nothing to do with this,” she tapped the book’s cover gently. “But I didn’t say anything because I just wanted an excuse to keep spending time with you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you really forget to put it back yesterday?” Clarke grinned, rolling her eyes when Lexa became flustered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were avoiding me,” Lexa defended, “I didn’t know how else to get you to talk to me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a long moment, Clarke didn’t say anything at all, but then she tugged a piece of paper out of Lexa’s notebook.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’re you doing?” Lexa asked, not making any move to stop Clarke from tearing out the sheet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See, we’re gonna need ground rules for this,” Clarke murmured, writing hastily on the piece of paper. “Who’s going to pay, activities to go on, that sort of thing. Actually, I’ll tell you right now, I expect a kiss after the first one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you—are you making out a </span>
  <em>
    <span>contract</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I know how much you like them. Besides, dating is serious business, Lexa. Agree to my terms, or I walk.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was joking, it was obvious she was joking and Lexa knew that. But instead of laughing, Lexa took Clarke’s pen and signed her name at the bottom of the page.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Easiest decision ever.” She stuck out her hand, and unable to help her smile, Clarke took it, cementing their deal with a handshake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(A handshake that turned into tangling their fingers together and leaving the building for that contractually-mandated first date and kiss.) </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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